What the HELL did we do last night?
by Not what you came for
Summary: The fellowship go out to celebrate the downfall of Sauron...


Authors note: Okay, this is a weird one folks ;-) After the destruction of Sauron, the Company go out for a quiet drink to celebrate. This is the morning after….  
  
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A small ship was floating, unmanned, across the misty sea, and producing some very disturbing noises. After a moment, a small, curly-haired head was stuck over the side and unleashed a rainbow of vomit into the still waters. Several minutes later, the head seemed to have finished and was pulled back inside the vessel.  
  
Sam came back through the window of the ship, and sat himself down with his back against the wall. He stared at the others lying around him, and pulled himself upright. With a growl, he staggered across the bottle-strewn deck to the prone figure of Gandalf, and started to give him a thorough kicking, muttering under his breath "Hah, yes, just a little drink! That's all, Sam. Honest!". He was stopped by a groan from the other side of the boat. A blonde head was raised, and with bleary eyes Legolas looked about him. Noticing Sam, he quizzed him "Is the top of my head still attached?" Sam nodded, winicng at the pain as he did so. "Damn." Muttered the elf, and slumped back into unconsciousness. Picking his way between the littered forms, Sam tripped and fell over the still form of Gimli, who's beard was now a rather fetching electric pink with little blue bows in it. Somebody was going to get it in the neck for that when the dwarf woke up. Sam dropped down next to him and shut his eyes. A few minutes later he was snoring. An hour or two later, a stirring under a pile of empty lager cans revealed Aragorn, wearing a red off-the-shoulder dress and cuddling, for some bizarre reason that probably cant be told to anyone under a eighteen, a traffic cone (Don't ask why. It's a universal constant. After a night of heavy drinking, at some point a traffic cone has to figure into the equasion) He pushed away a seal that was licking his face, and sat up. Merry and Pippin sat back to back in one corner, each with a paper squeaker in their mouths and a large pair of comedy plastic breasts on their heads, the kind that are sold to rugby players and anyone else who's sense of humour has been surgically removed. Sam and Gimli were huddled together on the floor, and Aragorn noticed that Sam now appeared to have the word "Wanker" tattooed across his forehead. Legolas was somewhere under a pile of empty bottles. Aragorn wasn't sure what they had contained, but it was strong enough to strip paint. The smell alone was shoving red hot pokers up his nostrils. It was impossible to drink that sort of stuff, as it turned to vapours as soon as it entered the warmth of the human mouth. You inhaled it. He blinked, then gave a short scream at the way his eyelids felt like sandpaper scraping down his eyeballs. He sought out Gandalf, and went through his pockets. He eventually found what he was looking for; a collection of bills from the many bars, pubs and clubs they had visited last night. After an unpleasant ten minutes of trying to persuade his brain to come out of hibernation, he set about mentally totalling up the bills. Half an hour later, he came out with a result of $561,209,847,420.72 . He groaned, and let himself flop back down to the floor. Rather than the thud and tinkle of broken glass he was expecting, he heard nothing but a damp little squeak. Rolling over, he looked down at Frodo, whom he had landed on. The hobbit had his hair in rollers, was wearing a rather extravagant amount of make up, and appeared to have had a space hopper stapled to the seat of his pants. Aragorn sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered "What the hell happened last night?" Secretly, he hoped no one else had the answer, or they would remember that really interesting thing he had done with a lampshade and two balloons that had seemed so very funny at the time. He moaned again, buried his head in a handy pile of empty cardboard boxes with the words "Budweiser-King of beers" printed on them and promptly slipped back into the world of incredibly strange tequila-fueled dreams, safe in the knowledge that it would be several hours yet until anyone discovered exactly what their share of the bill was. * * * * *  
  
And that's your lot. I hope you all enjoyed that. As usual, leave a review on your way out. Thankyou! 


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